


Breathe on the Ashes That Remain

by NoisyNoiverns



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Control Ending, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Post-Reaper War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 18:45:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4360199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyNoiverns/pseuds/NoisyNoiverns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Reapers fixed the relays, worlds are being rebuilt, and the galaxy is starting to return to normal. But "normal" is relative; there's always something hiding in the wings just out of sight. Before the final battle at Earth, Councilor Valern was one of the few who knew what lay in wait. But with Valern out of commission in the hospital and the Normandy still making her way back from fleeing the Crucible, the secret has to wait for someone else to figure it out.</p><p>Esheel always did hate puzzle games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe on the Ashes That Remain

Esheel massaged her left temple, glaring at the holo-lock just barely visible outside her door that still stubbornly glowed red. Whatever the hell Valern had done to the lock on his office, he’d known what he was doing. Biometric sensors, ungodly long sequences of numbers that seemed to change every time someone tried to crack it, bits of code that erased themselves at random and had to be rewritten… It had only been a matter of hours before she’d told the techs to go home, she’d just use her own office until Valern could be talked into opening up his office for her.

As admittedly unlikely as that was.

She glanced down as her terminal beeped with an incoming message. With any luck, she’d get a distraction from the irritation that was Valern and his inexplicable office lock.

_News from the_ Normandy _. Meeting to discuss. My office._

_Sparatus_

She blinked slowly. The _Normandy_. The biggest buzzword in the tower, suddenly only spoken in hushed tones after the war. If there was word…

“Aehe, hold down the fort,” she called to the ambassador currently helping get the last of their tech set up as she navigated the maze of screens and controllers and boxes towards the door leading out to the rest of the tower.

The salarian embassy was the one closest to the bottom of the building, only a couple levels up from the ground floor. When they’d found the Citadel, and it had only been them and the asari, they’d chosen it specifically to put a respectable distance between them and the other species, giving the both of them a decent amount of space to spread out. Then the volus showed up, then everyone else, and they’d started filling in the rest of the space. The turians had chosen an embassy up closer to the top floor, to suit their instincts for climbing and exercise, a decision everyone knew the current councilor despised with every fiber of his eighty-year-old body. Catching the elevator up to the right floor, Esheel decided she couldn’t really blame him. Maybe they should get somebody on making the elevators faster.

The turian embassy was relatively quiet, and seemed slightly hazy with smoke. More than one diplomat was lounging around, a few with blunts in hand, others with incense burners on their desks. Some were outright napping, feet propped up on their desks.

Ambassador Quentius met her halfway through the embassy, hands tucked behind his back. “Ambassador,” he greeted with a respectful little bow. “I apologize for the smoke. Things have been stressful lately, so we brought out some stores of _veflos_ to help us relax and get work done. The incense is stronger, but some prefer to smoke it directly. The councilor will be available shortly, he’s in with his son at the moment.”

“His son?”

“General Verres Sparatus, ma’am. His middle child.” He cocked one mandible up. “Since being released from the hospital, the councilor’s wife has been adamant about him using the cane his doctor told him to use. The councilor is notoriously stubborn about medical matters, so Lady Sparatus has recruited their children and grandchildren to periodically check in on him and make sure he’s actually using it.”

“We’re on her payroll too, of course,” a female turian about Sparatus’ size said, coming out of an office near the councilor’s and walking up behind Quentius with a small bundle of datapads in hand. “But he’s already suspicious of us, so the children are her backup plan. It just happens that the general has a built-in excuse to go in and speak with him.” Ambassador Denterius grinned. “Not that hard to guess who’s the favorite child at the moment.”

“I see,” Esheel said dryly. Turians and their social games. At least they admitted what they were up to.

The holo-lock on Sparatus’ office turned green just before the door opened and two turians walked out, a very small third clinging to Sparatus’ cowl. The councilor himself was hobbling along with the aid of a long, shiny cane, probably custom-made. The other turian, who could only be his son Verres, hadn’t gotten his father’s coloring, instead a dark gray, and walked tall and proud with the typical “proper soldier” posture Esheel swore turians learned in utero. “So, Dad,” Verres was saying cheerfully, “can we make old jokes yet? I mean, you’ve got the cane, you’ve got the heart disease, you’ve got the grandkids…”

Sparatus let out a _harrumph_. “Verres, I’m the councilor, and I make the rules. And rule number one is, _no old jokes_. Especially not from smartass generals,” he added with a swat of his cane towards Verres’ shins.

Verres, to his credit, just winced and took the hit, then chuckled good-naturedly and bumped shoulders with the councilor. “Alright, alright. I’m headed back to see how Areus is doing, I’ll tell Mom you’re just as stubborn and in denial about your age as ever. Come on, Ru, say bye-bye to Granddad. We’re going to go get food,” he said, gently prying the child off Sparatus’ cowl.

“Byyyeee!” the little one chirped, waving as Verres weaved around the ambassadors with a respectful bob of his head.

Sparatus fluttered his mandibles, watching them go, then looked to Esheel. “Ambassador. Sorry to keep you waiting. Verres needed to speak with me, and my grandson came along with him. Come on in, Tevos should be joining us in a moment. Lisia, did you compile that-“

“Right here, sir.” Denterius handed Sparatus one of the datapads. “Everything is there, I checked thrice. Added footnotes, navigation links, all the usual stuff.”

“And my reading glasses?”

“On your desk by your wedding photo, sir.”

“I feel like I should ask how you know that, but at the same time, I don't really care. Thank you, Lisia. If Tevos shows up, don't just send her in, warn me first, would you?”

“Of course, sir."

“Take notes, Quentius.” Sparatus quirked a mandible and turned to head back into his office. “Somebody send an intern to get more tea.”

As Esheel followed Sparatus into his office, she heard Ambassador Quentius ask, “How come he calls _you_ by your first name but not _me?_ ”

“He _likes_ me.”

Then the doors slid shut, and she was alone with the councilor.

Sparatus hobbled over to his desk, muttering to himself. “Take a seat. Give me a moment to find the data again, I had to switch out when Verres showed up.”

“Take your time.” Esheel gingerly sat down on the couch near the window as Sparatus sank into his desk chair with a low groan. “You said something about the _Normandy_?”

“Hm, yes. A transmission came in a few hours ago. One of your people is working on cleaning it up, but it seems to be saying they’re on their way back to civilization and have a lot to talk about.”

Esheel frowned. “The _Normandy_ reappearing will cause a stir.”

“Naturally. Admiral Zorah and the various Alliance officers will be especially sought-after.”

“What about Vak-“

“ _Don’t_ say that name. See how much my plates’ color has faded? A good portion of that fading was caused by Vakarian men.”

“Point taken. Won’t mention him.”

“Good. Now, before the final assault, Councilor Valern alerted me to some information he had that supposedly was too delicate of a nature to deal with in the middle of a war. He didn’t tell me much, only that if we lost the war, it wouldn’t matter anymore, so there was no point to sharing until we won, and that it had something to do with the asari. But with him in the hospital…”

“… He can’t tell you what he found,” Esheel finished for him. “I see. And I’m assuming by the fact that you’re telling me this in private that you’re not going to share with Councilor Tevos?”

“Not until we know more. If Valern didn’t share it himself, it must not be something he wanted them to know he knew.”

“And you think the _Normandy_ has similar information?”

“I know it does.” Sparatus started tapping away at his terminal. “They’re who he got the information from.”

Esheel’s eyes widened slightly, and he shrugged. “A bit of trickery and creative use of agents, I would assume. He never said anything about Shepard actually _knowing_ about the tech.”

She frowned just as a knock came at the door. “Sir, Councilor Tevos is here.”

“Thank you, Lisia.” Sparatus settled back in his seat and tapped a button on his omni-tool, opening the door. “Come in, Tevos.”

Esheel turned to see Tevos come walking in, putting away her omni-tool. “Ierian. I assume there’s a reason we’re meeting in your office?”

“My doctor doesn’t want me walking around as much anymore,” he replied easily. “Getting both legs broken tends to be bad for you.”

Tevos settled into a seat. “I thought your legs were fully healed?”

“They are, but I’m…” His mandibles moved in little circles, and his brow plates slowly lowered. Then he huffed and grumbled, “not as young as I used to be.”

“Ierian, there’s no reason to be ashamed of getting old.”

“I’m _not_ old, Tevos,” he snapped, subvocals holding a note of what Esheel thought might be disdain. It was hard to tell with turians, subvocals being as complicated a method of communication as they were. If reading non-salarians was a game, turians would be the secret unlockable challenge mode where people who had won were spoken of in hushed, awed tones.

As Tevos and Sparatus delved into a fervent argument over what exactly constituted old age, Esheel carefully tuned out, thinking on what Sparatus had told her. Valern had been hiding something, and something big. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised- he’d uncovered Udina, after all. But something seemed off. How had he gotten information from the _Normandy_ when he’d barely spoken to Shepard following the coup?

Only one person knew the answer to that, and he was in the burn unit at Huerta Memorial.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry, Ambassador, but Councilor Valern is not available for visitors at this time.”

Esheel narrowed her eyes at the asari receptionist. “Then when _will_ he be? It’s important.”

The receptionist shrugged. “So is his recovery, ma’am. I can let you know the moment he’s up for visitors, but that’s all I can do. You’d need a doctor’s clearance to go see him.”

Esheel considered, then sighed. “Fine. Who’s the doctor in charge of his case?”

“Doctor Rasal Vinok, ma’am. He’s the leading expert in burn treatment. The councilor is in good hands, don’t worry.”

She bit her tongue to keep herself from saying that the only thing _she_ would worry about was Valern making a full recovery. _Not the time_.

She thanked the receptionist for her help, then turned and paced toward the opposite wall- or, well, window. So she couldn’t talk to Valern just yet. He was probably incoherent at the moment, anyway. But she couldn’t wait for him to recover- she needed that information _now_.

“Excuse me, Ambassador.”

She just barely didn’t jump as she turned to see the source of the voice behind her. A green salarian in a doctor’s uniform had materialized at her elbow, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just- you need to speak with the councilor?”

She frowned slightly but nodded slowly, and the salarian continued, “My name is Vaehirn Moks. I’m helping Dr. Vinok treat him. I can’t get you in to see him, but I can update you on his progress, if that’s agreeable?”

She blinked, then folded her arms. “Isn’t that against one of your doctors’ rules?”

“No, ma’am. There’s nothing against progress updates. Now, if I were to give out the rest of his medical record, _that_ would be _vastly_ illegal. But simply telling you how he’s doing, that’s fine.”

She considered, then nodded. “That will be very helpful. Thank you.”

“Of course, Ambassador. I’ll check Dr. Vinok and have word for you shortly. My niece is in the embassies, she’ll bring you updates for me.”

“Your niece?”

“Haziko Raels, ma’am. Face like fire, can’t miss her.”

In the moment it took her to mull the name over in her head, Moks vanished with a quick, “Have to go, duty calls, and all that,” slipping off into the crowd.

He was out of sight before she realized she didn’t remember a Haziko ever working in the embassies.

The shuttle couldn’t get back to the tower fast enough. Esheel’s mind whirled with questions- how long was Valern going to be out of commission? Exactly who was this ‘Haziko Raels’ if she was working in the embassy without her knowledge, and what was she doing there? And still the most important, _what the hell was Valern hiding?_

She had to remind herself not to run to the embassy. Running would look odd and bring up questions she didn’t need. The rest of the tower was unaware of her hurry, going about its daily routine at the usual leisurely pace, though with a significantly more somber tone with so many dead or hospitalized.

The salarian embassy, unlike everything beyond its walls, was as lively as ever. Time didn’t stop for anything, especially not them. Shouts and less fragile tech flew over her head as she walked through, everyone bouncing off the walls to try to finish putting their embassy back together. Interns and diplomats called greetings as she passed, only a few putting down what they were doing to approach and speak to her. Comms to Acheka colony were back online. Rebuilding efforts at Mannovai were underway. Egg clutches at Fleogan held stable. Life went on.

At her office, she waved off the small horde that had clustered around her and closed the door behind her with a sigh. Somehow, she hadn’t quite anticipated how much energy it took to take on a councilor’s duties, even if she was just a stand-in. It had already been months since the end of the war, and she still hadn’t completely adjusted.

She’d only just sat down and woken her terminal from sleep when three knocks at the door came in rapid succession. “Esheel,” called Aehe, the ambassador next in line if Esheel were to suddenly keel over dead, through the door. “Someone to see you.”

Esheel stifled a groan. It never ended. “Send them in.”

The door opened, and a bright red-orange salarian with stark white markings striping their face padded in, knotting their fingers together. Esheel raised a brow and sat back in her chair. “And who might you be?”

The red-orange froze mid-step, then rearranged themselves into a carefully respectful pose. They cleared their throat, then stammered in a voice barely above a whisper, “Haziko Raels, ma’am. My uncle asked me to speak with you.”

_Oh_. So _this_ was Moks’ niece. Looking at her, Esheel got a distinct sense of pity. She was tense and crouched forward, her eyes were darting around the room, and each word she said either took multiple tries to get out, or the letters slurred and stuck in her throat and took five times as long to say as they should. “Calm down, Haziko. I won’t bite. Take a deep breath, get ahold of yourself, and report.”

Raels’ eyelids flicked upward, and she stilled for a few moments. The only sound she made was a few deep breaths. Then she assumed a different pose, straightening her back, relaxing her shoulders, and shifting her weight to one leg as the other lifted just enough that the tips of her toes were only barely brushing against the floor. One arm raised up so her fingers grazed along her collarbone, like she was hugging some invisible object in a way that teased a memory that was just out of reach. Her other arm went behind her back, her eyes opened, and she spoke. “You know what happened during the battle, I assume?”

Esheel was taken aback briefly by the change in the red’s voice. Gone were the stutter and the slurring, and she spoke clearly at a volume Esheel had no issue hearing. It was like she’d flipped a switch.

She composed herself quickly and folded her hands neatly in front of her on the desk. “Refresh my memory.”

Raels nodded. “While planting explosives to take out approaching Reaper forces, Councilor Valern was forced to flee before the bomb at hand was ready. In his haste, he left the detonator behind. A brute stepped on it. It was incinerated, but the councilor was also caught in the blast.”

Esheel winced in sympathy, and Raels continued, “The councilor suffered second- and third-degree burns all over his body in the blast itself. While he was on the ground, debris struck his left horn hard enough to split it down the middle to the base and partially detach his retinas. The team with him was able to evacuate him and get him medical assistance before anything too terrible happened, but treatment has been slow due to low resources and the extent of his injuries.”

 Esheel let out a long, slow breath. “What’s gotten done so far?”

One of Raels’ eye membranes twitched. “Amputation of the broken horn, left foot, right leg from just above the knee, and right hand,” she recited. “Removal of dead or infected tissue, replaced with clone replacement tissue- they’re only sixty-three-percent done, further surgeries are still scheduled. Surgery to reattach the retinas. Nanobots to repair damaged retinal tissue and cybernetics to restore lost vision are currently in production, as are fully-mechanized prosthetics.”

“Prosthetics? Why don’t they just use clone replacement? You said they’ve been using it for repairing the burn damage.”

“Bone takes a lot longer to grow than skin and muscle, ma’am. Besides, my uncle knows the best inventor in salarian space for prosthetics. She already has everything she needs, she just needs to put it together and have him test it.”

“I see.” Made sense enough, she supposed. “Is that all?”

“One more thing, ma’am.” The hand hiding behind Raels’ back came back into view, now grasping something on a delicate chain around her wrist. “My uncle- different one- asked me to give this to you.”

Curious, Esheel reached out, and Raels dropped the object into her hand. “Who’s the other uncle?” she asked, pulling her hand back to look at it.

“Vaehirn Adreon, ma’am. High priest at Mannovai’s temple,” Raels said as Esheel inspected the trinket. “Coral harvested from the Sur’Keshi equator, inscribed with the Guardian’s mark.”

Esheel frowned and looked up at Raels. “Did your uncle tell you what I need a protection talisman for? The war is _over._ ”

Raels frowned right back and shook her head, eye membranes twitching disapprovingly. “I try not to question the priests, ma’am. Bad luck, and their premonitions are usually right, even when they sound like they’ve been breathing saltwater too long. I wouldn’t vote one into public office, but when a priest tells me to watch my back, I listen.”

Esheel sighed and held up a hand. “Easy, Haziko. I didn’t mean to offend.”

Raels took a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m… close to my uncle. Spent a good while at the temple when I was younger.” She rolled her shoulders, then nodded to herself. “We’re not out of the maelstrom yet, ma’am. I’d keep that talisman close if I were you.”

Esheel nodded. “Noted. Anything else?”

“No, ma’am. I’ll tell my uncles I delivered the message and the talisman.” She gave a little bow. “Thank you for your time, Ambassador.”

Esheel nodded again, and Raels stood up, turned, and left the office. Esheel watched her go, then looked back down to the talisman in her hand. She regarded it for a moment, then sighed and carefully placed it around her neck. Whether Raels was right or not, it was never good to disregard a priest’s gift.

_Please,_ she asked whatever higher power may have been listening at the time, _let them be wrong, just this once_.

* * *

 

Raels weaved through the Presidium crowds, wishing she’d thought to copy her batarian quarterstaff instructor’s blade armor app and modify it for non-armored use. Talk about clearing a path…

She founded a secluded area in one of the parks, underneath one of the few trees spared the destruction Cerberus and the Reapers had caused. She fired up her omni-tool and plugged in the code for comms leaving the cluster.

Connection took a minute, as expected. “I need to speak to the dalatrass,” she said evenly when her aunt’s receptionist picked up. “Tell her it’s Yujai. She’ll know who I am.”

Another minute, then a calm, soft voice filtered out of her omni-tool. “Raels. Report.”

“Everything went as planned, _matu-tei_. She suspects nothing.”

“Excellent. Good work, Raels. We’ll keep you in the embassy, just in case.”

Raels grumbled. “ _Matu-tei_ , there’s no guarantee this will work. Sooner or later, she’ll forget about Uncle Adreon’s warning, and take it off, and we’ll be back to eyewitness work.”

“Don’t you worry about that, _tam-tei_. Councilor Sparatus has worked with us before, and he knows me personally. Owes me a favor, really. If Esheel falls through, he’s our backup plan.”

“And if he fails us, too?”

“With any luck, Valern will be talking again before that happens.” The dalatrass chuckled quietly.

Raels simply huffed, and the dalatrass sighed. “Relax, _itiika_. Our people have been doing this since long before salarians crossed the stars. If the councilor doesn’t help us, we have plenty of other plans in place. We’ll get what we need.”

“I still don’t understand why we can’t just tell her. It would make this easier.”

“It would, but the more who know, the more danger our operation is in. Besides, the ambassador doesn’t have anywhere near Valern’s track record with us. We can trust him. Her, not so much. We wait until Valern is speaking again to put anything in motion, and not a moment sooner. Understood?”

Raels hesitated, then sighed. “Of course, _makaiara_.”

“Good. I have to go, Adreon’s been riled up since the funeral and it helps him stay calm to have familiar faces around. Keep me updated, Raels. Vaehirn out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Guardian: one of several salarian war gods, said to watch over those on the front lines of conflict  
> matu-tei: salarian honorific used when addressing the siblings of one's parents  
> tam-tei: salarian honorific used when addressing the children of one's siblings  
> itiika: literally "little fish;" a term of endearment for salarians younger than the one speaking  
> makaiara: the leader of the salarian mob
> 
> Thanks to salamanderssmile for letting me borrow Lisia!


End file.
